


how silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night

by Zdenka



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Drabble Sequence, F/M, Longing, hair combing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: Eros and Psyche in the first days of their marriage. Love's impatience; touching in the dark; a blindfold and a comb.
Relationships: Eros/Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25
Collections: Writing Rainbow Silver





	how silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecat/gifts).



> Slipping in a late treat! The title is from _Romeo and Juliet_ II.ii.

Eros flits over the sunny meadow with restless beats of his wings. Wherever he stretches out his hands, blossoms spring from the earth and open in brilliant colors, coaxed by their love of the sun. Nothing must meet her eyes but scenes of delight; everything must reassure her and calm her fears.

He has mocked the pangs of love so often, gleefully shooting his arrows here and there. But never has he felt it himself: this pleasure-pain, this overpowering longing, this indescribable tenderness. And for Psyche—he will give her all the sweetness of love and nothing of the bitter.

* * *

He feels Psyche’s small careful movements beside him, as if afraid to awaken him. And then—the tentative touch of her fingers on his shoulder. Eros smiles in the dark with a hint of mischief. He keeps his breathing even, feigning sleep, and waits.

Her hand reaches his face, softly exploring his features. He remains still. Psyche’s touch gradually grows bolder, sliding down over his bare chest and back. She touches feathers and gasps. But his Psyche is no coward; she tries again, stroking gently along his wings. It is all he can do not to lean into the touch.

* * *

He arrives early one evening, as Psyche is preparing for bed. One invisible servant combs Psyche’s loose hair, while another holds up a polished bronze mirror. Eros cannot name the emotion that fills him, but he swiftly gestures for them to leave.

Psyche looks up in surprise. He sends a breeze to catch up her gauzy sash, making the fluttering fabric blindfold her eyes.

“Psyche,” he calls softly.

“Husband! It is you?” She is glad.

He takes up the comb himself and runs it through her shining hair. She sighs, relaxing under his hands, and he wishes never to stop.


End file.
